


Captivated

by Sharlih-rhymes-with-Darling (LadyLustful)



Category: Winnetou - Karl May
Genre: Come Swallowing, Everyone Is Gay, Hair-pulling, Kink Discovery, M/M, Mild S&M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, dominant Winnetou, submissive Charlie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 06:25:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14538630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLustful/pseuds/Sharlih-rhymes-with-Darling
Summary: The one where Charlie discovers he likes being dominated.





	Captivated

**Author's Note:**

> link to the Winnetou slash discord here: https://discord.gg/m7xFdHJ

Heavy, thick, soft hair brushes my hips and thighs. A warm, soft, wet mouth kisses me, an agile tongue licking and teasing, driving me higher and higher, almost to the verge of completion, yet not allowing me to tumble over it. It is torture, yet it is a torture I would not exchange for anything in the world.  
I mostly hold silent. Winnetou warned me earlier that, if I am to fully appreciate the results of this exercise, he would be forced to control the nature and pace of it entirely, and ignore my pleas or demands to let me come. My focus to praise him ran out earlier and so I now am reduced only to moans and gasps and single broken words.  
As my pleasure mounts, my control slips away slowly. My hips twitch, seeking touch, pressure, friction, even as I try to hold them back, my wrists, held in the firm grip of my brother's long, agile fingers, strain against them, my strength more than a match for his. The heavenly tongue leaves me abruptly and I try to chase it with my body before holding back.  
_“Hold still!”_ , Winnetou orders me, in the exact same steely, forceful tone he uses to command his warriors in battle, lips so close to me I can feel the exhale of air on my member. It is the contrast that tips me over – the reminder of the power, the authority held by the beautiful man who is now pleasuring me – and I cannot control myself, tumbling headlong into oblivion with barely a shout of warning.  
When I come to, my beloved is wiping off his face with an impassive expression. I look at him, feeling very stupid and very ashamed.  
“Are you allright?”  
“Yes. My brother need not worry.”  
“I'm sorry. I got excited”, I offer.  
And Winnetou starts laughing, a rare sound, light and warm, full of life and amusement. Those who have only seen his serious side cannot imagine how beautiful he looks when he laughs. And, relieved that he seems to find this entire situation amusing, I join him, a much less dignified giggle that would put even old Sam to shame. We laugh at this ridiculous situation, at ourselves for having been involved in it, and every time we calm down a bit and look at each other, we burst out laughing again. Finally the hilarity wears off and we manage to compose ourselves.  
My brother gives me a look that, while fond, is also serious, and asks:  
“Does my Sharlih... like when I tell him what to do?”  
I flush deeply, from my face all the way to my chest, yet, the steady gaze of Winnetou's beautiful dark eyes compels me to answer.  
“Yes.”  
“Why?”  
I think for a while before answering  
“I love... the power you have. Over yourself, over your men... over me. And yet, I know nothing from you but love and kindness... caring and understanding... There is not a man in this world in whose power I would be as completely and willingly as in yours – and there is not a man I would so wish to please and obey.”  
My beloved Winnetou's beautiful face turns pensive.  
“So... if I were to ask my brother to kneel and pleasure me now...?”  
This is hardly an unusual request – we often make love that way, and I love kissing and tasting my lover, stoking his pleasure with every touch of my lips and tongue until he spills in my mouth - yet I am surprised by how the prospect of being ordered excites me, by the almost painful twinge of desire running through my spent body.  
“I would obey with the greatest pleasure.”  
And then my love's voice turns harder – not harsh, not cruel by any means, but steely and commanding.  
“Then do it.”  
I kneel in front of him, eagerly submitting, breathing in the earthly, deliciously masculine scent of my lover, before opening my mouth, sliding my tongue over the very tip of his member, almost shy, almost hesitant. It is entirely unlike me, indeed, I usually dive right in with very much eagerness and very little need for encouragement, wanting nothing more than to please my Winnetou, but now, for some reason, I am inspired to draw it out, playing the coy, reluctant captive, as it were. Again, I swipe my tongue over his head, firmer but still delicate, delighting in both tasting my beloved and drawing out his pleasure.  
_“Sharlih. Suck me now.”_  
I obey promptly, sealing my lips around his length, his flesh muffling the moan of excitement that threatens to escape me at this order, given in such a brazen and confident manner, and at the way it feels to finally have him in my mouth – hot, thick, swollen almost all the way from our earlier exercise – and the caress of my lips and tongue quickly takes care of the rest. I suck him with a focused dedication, as though my safety did really rely upon it, losing myself in the taste and feel of him, the sound of his voice, the way his strong, graceful fingers tug at my hair, playing idly, as though my actions did not affect him – and yet, I know better, not just from the profound intimate bond that connects us, but also from the little thrusts into my mouth that he tries to control, the drops of liquid that I gather with every lap of my tongue. It is a thing of wonder – to experience Winnetou, normally so collected and self-possessed, overwhelmed by pleasure, losing his usual composure at my ministrations - and yet still perfectly in control of the situation. Yet, as I suck and lick at him, bringing him ever closer to completion, his restraint slips away, letting him grip my hair and thrust deeper into my mouth. I choke, unaccustomed to such a deep and sudden penetration, tears springing to my eyes, face flushing, head pulling back reflexively as my hair slips out of my brother's fingers - still, a part of me not only welcomes the intrusion but, surprisingly, delights in it, my body lighting up with a sudden wave of desire that leaves me momentarily lightheaded.  
My beloved Winnetou's slender fingers tip my head up, making me look up at him, his arousal forgotten for the moment, concern in his liquid dark eyes and in every line of his beautiful face.

“Is my brother allright?”

I draw a deep breath before replying.

“Yes, I'm fine, just surprised. In fact...” and I trail off, ashamed to share the exact effect his inadvertent action had on me.  
_“Tell me, Sharlih.”_

And again, my brother's firm voice and loving gaze compel me to answer.

“I liked it, kind of. It's uncomfortable, but also exciting.”

“I wouldn't mind feeling it again”, I add, flushed bright red both at the thought of what I am offering and how _little_ I would mind it, exactly.  
Winnetou seems to like the idea as much as I do, barely controlled arousal visible in every line of his lithe, powerful body, in the sudden exhale of air that escapes his perfect lips, and the miniscule widening of his deep dark eyes.

“ _Suck me now, Sharlih,”_ he commands, fingers gripping onto my hair as though to ground himself – and I have no time to obey, barely enough time to open my mouth, before he thrusts inside, setting a rough, steady pace, seemingly for just his own pleasure – although the mere thought of being used like that would make me come undone had I not already spilled so recently. As it is, I simply submit to this treatment, moaning in helpless arousal, pressing my lips and tongue to my lover's flesh to enhance his pleasure, unable to do anything but take it – and enjoy it. The rougher, deeper thrusts, too, I accept eagerly – teary-eyed from the discomfort, yet aching and dripping with arousal, spurred on by the pretense of being a powerless captive, yet soothed by the knowledge that I am safe, cherished, loved, and that this rough play is nothing more – than play, precisely. And so I lap and suck and choke and swallow, seeking nothing more than to return the pleasure his actions give me, with interest, if possible, and bring him to a swift and sweet completion. And my efforts are most pleasingly rewarded, by the drops of clear liquid I taste from him, by the breathless little half-words in his native tongue that he lets slip, by the way I can feel, in a manner more profound than all my senses, that he is close – by the way, that, finally, the iron control with which he held back his release, drawing out both our pleasure, gives way, and, with a last few erratic thrusts, he spills across my tongue.  
_“Swallow”_ , I hear him say, closer to broken than I think I ever heard him – yet still commanding.  
This order, together with the feel and taste of him, almost drives me over the edge myself, yet, I hold back, convinced that the prize at the end will be even sweeter.  
He withdraws, spent and satisfied, my tongue gathering up the last drops of his release. I comply as slowly as possible, torn between wanting to obey my lover, and savoring his taste, the exquisite intimacy of the moment, a little longer. The act of swallowing seems to soothe and irritate my aching throat at once, a most peculiar sensation that I find myself craving.

“Did my brother enjoy that?”, asks Winnetou, stroking my face with gentle, tender fingers.

“Yes”, I breathe, every word a reminder of what we had just done. “Yes. You have no idea.”

“I think I do. _Touch yourself for me, Sharlih.”_

Words cannot describe my excitement at that simple sentence. Slowly, I bring my hand to my swollen, aching, dripping length, sure the barest touch will prove my undoing, yet unwilling to disobey. The feeling of my own fingers makes me shudder with overstimulation, convinced I cannot continue. My beloved notices, of course.  
_“Touch yourself, Sharlih. Stroke yourself for me.”_

And I do. Hesitant, overwhelmed by the sensations, frustrated by the lack of release, yet unwilling to spill without permission, I rub myself with awkward, trembling finger, soaked with my own fluid, focused on the idea of making my love proud by lasting longer, on showing him a sight worth watching, rather than the confused, conflicting demands of my own mind and body. Above, I see my Winnetou's stunning, sculpted face, deceptively serene, his mesmerizing dark eyes fixed upon me in fascination. Yet, despite of how much I can sense watching me pleases him, I know he must also feel my desperation, the craving of my body and soul for any sort of respite, and himself yearn to soothe them.

“ _Come for me, my Sharlih.”_

These words are my salvation, for, no sooner than they are spoken, I spill over my own fingers, tumbling headlong into oblivion, deafened, blinded, and numbed to all but the rush of my own pleasure, undone by the order itself and the loving yet authoritative sound of my brother's velvety voice.

“Sharlih. Sharlih.”

My awareness returns to me slowly. My body, famed for its strength in the East and West, feels like molten lead, liquid and immeasurably heavy at once. My eyes are closed, and I open them to see the radiant face of my Winnetou, mere inches away, looking down at me with concern, which upon my apparent awakening, changes into something more akin to wonder. “Is my brother allright?”  
“Yes”, I manage. “Very, very good.”

I smile what must be a very uncoordinated but blissful smile, and then, the soft, perfect lips that were my undoing not once, but twice today press against mine, first delicate, almost chaste, then bolder, tasting his own release on my lips.  
  


 


End file.
